Fool’s Quest

Such a title to give me. “And that made you fear . . . what?”

“That you would be reluctant to leave the acclaim you had finally earned. That you would go without heart to my errand.”

To deflect him from any thoughts of the murders he’d assigned me, I hastily referenced his other errand. “Fool, I will do all I can to find the son you suspect you have left somewhere. Doubtless it would make my task much easier if you could recall for me the women you have lain with who might have borne such a child, and when it might have happened.”

He gave a snort of displeasure. “Fitz! Have you listened not at all to what I told you? There is no such woman, nor a child conceived in that way. I told you that.”

My mind reeled. “No. No, you didn’t. I am sure that if you had told me such a thing, I would have remembered it. And that I would have immediately asked, as I do now, then how have you made a son?”

“You don’t listen,” he said sadly. “I explain things quite clearly, but if it’s not what you expect to hear, you set it aside. Fitz. This crown. Would it fit?”

“It’s not a crown, not really.” He had changed the subject again. I knew that he would not explain until he decided to. I tried to conceal my relief that he’d let me get away with my deflection as I turned the cold steel in my hands. The last time I’d worn a crown, it had been wooden and decorated with roosters. No. Don’t summon that memory now. I lifted the circlet and set it on my head. “It fits, I suppose. I’m not sure how it’s supposed to fit.”

“Let me touch it.” He rose and groped his way around the end of the table to where I sat. His hands felt for me, found a shoulder, the side of my face, and then fluttered up to my head and the crown there. He lifted it slightly, and then, with no self-consciousness at all, measured the length of my hair. He walked his fingers down my face, touching the break in my nose, the old scar, the scruff of beard on my chin. If anyone else had done it, it would have felt invasive. Insulting. But I knew he was comparing what I looked like now with what he recalled.

He cleared his throat then lifted the circlet in his hands. He spoke more gravely than I had ever heard him as he uttered the words, “FitzChivalry Farseer. I crown you King-in-the-Shadows of the Six Duchies.” He set the circlet on my head, settling it carefully. The steel was cold and heavy. It settled there as if it would never move again. He cleared his throat once more and after a pause he added, “You’re a handsome man still, Fitz. Not as pretty as before Regal broke your face. But you’ve aged well, I judge.”

“That old Skill-healing.” I shrugged. “My body just keeps repairing itself, whether I wish it or not.”

I took off the steel crown and set it on top of the oily canvas that had sheltered it. Light ran along the edge of it like blood on a sword blade.

“I wish that were my situation,” the Fool returned. His gaze went back to the candles. For a long time, we were both silent. Then he said softly, “Fitz. My eyes. Being blind . . . they used that. To make me fearful and cowering. I need to see. I dread the thought of setting out on our quest still blinded. I will if I must. But . . . Could you . . .”

So much for my deflection. I had told him I could not go on his quest, but he persisted in ignoring what I’d said. Let it go. “Tell me what they did to your eyes,” I said as quietly.

He held up a helpless hand. “I don’t know. Perhaps they did not even intend to do it, but once it was done, they made full use of it. They . . . oh, Fitz. There was a beating. And another one. My eyes were swollen shut. And another beating. And—”

I stopped him. “And when the swelling went down, you could no longer see.”

He drew in a deep breath. I saw how he fought to tell me a tale of things he wanted only to forget. “At first, I kept thinking it was night. Or that I was in a dark cell. They did that sometimes. If you are in the dark always, you can’t tell how much time has passed. I think, I think that sometimes they brought me water and food at very long intervals, and sometimes they brought me food quickly. To confuse me about time passing. It was a long time before I realized I couldn’t see. And a longer time before I knew it wasn’t going away.”

“That’s enough. I just needed to know a bit, to help me.”

Another silence. Then he whispered, “Will you try now?”

I was silent. To do so would risk my own vision. Could I tell him that while such hope burned in his face? He looked more like my old Fool than he had since Aslevjal. His vision was so important to him. Restoring it was key to his quest, and his ridiculous quest to assassinate all the Servants was the only purpose that he had left to him. Last night I’d had the triumph of a dream I’d never allowed myself to dream. Could I destroy his hopes today?

I’d be careful. So careful. Surely I’d be able to tell if I were endangering myself?